Observations
by SynethesiaTastesGrey
Summary: Just about everyone seems to know that they're in love. Everyone except Cassie and Pritkin themselves.
Jonas:

I've never seen John fuss before. He's not the fussy type, something which, in fact, I've always admired about him. I'll be the first to admit that I'm a fussy sort, somewhat prone to tangents and getting bogged down in detail. John, however, is the Lord Nelson type. "Never mind the manoeuvres, just go straight at them!" That's always been his, shall we say, style.

But now he fusses. I suspect Cassandra doesn't realise, you know, although, you can hardly blame her. Solicitousness from John would seem like excruciating rudeness coming from any other man, but I've known him a long time and I've never seen him hover at any woman's side the way he does with her. Not since – well. I think perhaps he'd rather I didn't talk about that.

I suppose I should note that he still keeps his distance, to be sure, but then John has always had a rather expansive notion of personal space. Sometimes being in the same room is too close for him. Yet, with Cassie, he sits and walks beside her and makes nothing of it. He checks on her constantly too: does she notice, the way he tracks her every move, follows her always with his eyes? I don't think she does. What's more, I don't think he does. I would rather like to be there when they work it out. Or perhaps not. Some things are better left to the imagination.

Caleb:

You know there's been a rumour going round the Corps for years that he's gay? Never paid much notice to it myself. I mean sure, the guy avoids women like the plague but he's not much better with most men either. If he shakes your hand when he meets you, then goddamn, count yourself among the favoured few.

Some people are just like that, they don't like to be touched. Figured he had his reasons. Figured they were none of my damn business and just kept my mouth shut.

But now I gotta wonder how she did it. Cassie, I mean. She grabs his hand and he allows it. Bumps him on purpose like a brat and he just shrugs it off it. Once he even fucking smiled, man. No, really. Sometimes she actually touches his hair and Mr Porcupine himself just sits there and lets it happen. Some kinda miracle, right?

At first, I kept asking myself what the hell happened to him, what changed him during that month of being the Circle's most wanted. Now I think I know. I think it's her. She's got this way of making you do the unthinkable, of dragging you down into her crazy like it's the most normal thing in the world. Maybe that's good for John. Maybe that's what he needed. I tell you what though, if she breaks his heart at the end of all this? Pythia or no pythia, I don't give a fuck. She's on my shit list.

Casanova:

Look, amigo, I'm no fool. That harpy in the penthouse suite might take me for an idiot but I see things. Dios, I see things through an incubus' eyes, do they forget that? You want to know what I see? I see that awful woman and that grubby catastrophe of a mage making moon eyes at each other in the middle of a fucking war zone. There's enough sexual tension pouring off that pair of lunatics to power this entire godforsaken hotel.

It would be funny actually, if it wasn't going to make my life more of a disaster than it already is. You see, on the one hand, the master has inexplicably fixated on that banshee and now he wants her wrapped in cotton wool and kept as his pet Pythia. You know what happens to me if she starts screwing around with another guy on my watch? Neither do I. I've been trying not to think about it. I've heard the master can get … creative when he's angry and believe me, I do not want to see him angry. At least, not with me.

So, you say, why not just tell him now? Tell the master that some filthy, half breed war mage is moving in on his chica, with the 'sparring' and 'self defense lessons' and all the other pathetic excuses he comes up with to get close to close to her – this is my hotel! I see everything that goes on in here, pal. Yeah, and while I'm at it, should I mention her moving right back? Girl's about as subtle as a sledge hammer, with her tank tops and her short shorts and her breathy, little voice. "Oh, could you show me that move again? I don't think I managed to grope every inch of your ridiculously bulgy biceps last time." She wants it. Every time he turns around, she stares at his ass like it's candy. Hah! You're right. I should tell Lord Mircea. I should tell him, then watch him dismember the mage and while I'm at it, I might as well yank my own guts out on a hook and save my other boss the trouble. Lord Rosier was nice and clear: anything that happens to his precious son and heir happens to me. Whoopie.

So, the longer their little flirtation goes on, the longer my ass is hanging in the wind, ready to get flayed. What can I do but play the game? The mage is going to fuck up. Sooner or later, he'll break his daddy's rules and then it's back to the pits of hell for him. And I'll finally, finally get to live the quiet life.


End file.
